Can't Find You
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: Every night for the past 240 nights, Charles finds that he cannot sleep until he uses Cerebro for 20 mere minutes to search - in vain - for one Erik Lehnsherr. .:. angsty slash, unrequited/unresolved. drabbleshot. post-FC film.


**A/N: Inspired by, but not limited to, this: nightmarekisser(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/6737093105/glower-i-wish-i-could-still-find-you**

**Angsty slash. Post-**_**First Class**_** film. Charles/Erik, unrequited/unresolved.**

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><p>It's every night. Every night since he can't remember when; it began one insomnia-ruined evening after everyone else in the mansion has gone to bed, and Charles lied awake, staring at the ceiling, his legs restless in that phantom limb sort of way as he tried to find sleep. Tried to find rest for his weary mind. He thought of Erik, and how playing chess with the other man before bedtime would bring him peace enough to sleep. But he hadn't seen Erik or heard from Erik in over three years since that awful day on the beach.<p>

And that's what triggered his odd routine, his irksome nightly habit: thoughts of Erik and where he was, and what he was doing.

So, that first night, Charles yanked back the covers and brought his wheelchair close to his bed, sliding into it, and manually positioning his useless legs onto the footrest. And then he grabbed a spare blanket, draped it around himself, and rolled down the hall.

Since that night, he has spent twenty minutes every night for the past two hundred forty consecutive nights trying to find even a trace of Erik Lehnsherr, a.k.a. Magneto, to fill some sort of void in his life. A void left by the same man he's looking for, a void left by a limited amount of mobility, and a void left by the loss of so many smaller things adding up to generate such a large, gaping hole.

Tonight is no different.

Charles slips into Cerebro II's room and wheels himself up to the platform in the center. He places the helmet over his hair and turns on the machine; it runs quietly, thankfully, but it uses up power. No one has lights on at this hour, however, so his secret routine is still that: a secret.

As the machine boots up, Charles idly fiddles with the buttons on his nightshirt. He glances down at the console, and as it lights up, he knows it's ready. He wastes no time; he activates it fully, and he stretches out his consciousness to all reaches of the continental Unites States, knowing that Erik must be _somewhere _out there in the country, shouldn't he?

He finds many people, none of them very familiar. Some of them are children, some are adults, and some are teenagers. All of them are mutants. He always focuses more on the mutants than the humans, although he does like to check up on humans like the president ever since John F. Kennedy was assassinated the year following that day on the Cuban beach.

He spends all twenty minutes thinking wispy thoughts as he scans the country. _I still can't find you, Erik; it's been months, and I still can't find you. I miss you; I don't blame you; I wonder about Raven; I want to know how you both are; I can't sleep unless I've checked on you; where are you?_

He finds Raven sometimes. She calls herself Mystique in her head, but he can't think of her as that being, someone shifted into something less innocent, less childish. That thing that visited him naked one night and called itself his pet, and inferred that she was rebelling against his thoughts of her. It was odd. So, to Charles, she will forever be Raven, his darling little sister.

When he finds Raven, she is generally sleeping, and dreaming of anything, but she mostly dreams of Hank and Charles and Erik, and sometimes Azazel.

Other times, he finds Emma, the other telepath. When he does, she sneers at him and sends him away, blocking him out. She's grown used to his nightly habit by now, however, so he doesn't usually find her unless she's unconscious and dreaming. She likes to dream of crystal chandeliers and Shaw and the ocean, and sometimes candlelight. She never dreams of normal people, the sort she is around today.

On rare occasions, Charles will be fortunate enough to see through one of Erik's lackeys' minds, and he gets snippets of where they might be. But none of it is ever clear enough, because he doesn't have the longitude/latitude tracker of Cerebro in use; he only had it when he was with the CIA because their Cerebro, the original one, was connected to various government satellites, secret ones that beat out Sputnik but aren't revealed to the public. But now he lacks those, and can't track anyone as well.

Sighing as the full twenty minutes pass without a trace of Erik, Charles turns off the machine and heads back to bed.

It seems he will never find Erik, because Erik either says up late at night or wears his helmet to bed, and he knows better than to let his guard down because Emma has most likely told Erik all about Charles' foolish endeavors, his weak and failed attempts at locating his long, lost friend.

_More than friend, actually,_ Charles muses sadly as he rolls back to his room. _You aren't looking for him just because you miss him and want your friend back. You were smitten with him when he was around, ever fascinated and attracted, and now that he's gone and left so tragically from your side, you want and need him back again, because now, you truly love him. _

He sighs at his own thoughts, and he feels a stab in his chest.

Sometimes, when he's using Cerebro II to try and find the metalbender, Charles cries. Only a tear or two slipping down his pale, English cheek, but it's enough. It's still a tear, and tears forever constitute as someone crying.

He isn't even sure if he should weep over Erik; what's the point? And why is it that their views differ enough to put them on opposite sides? Why is Erik so stubborn that he can't work alongside Charles and be _home _again?

These questions are what drive Charles to the edge. They are what keep him up at night. They are what push him to continue his lost cause to search in vain for his closest, dearest, most precious friend.

_Please, Erik, _he thinks to himself, reminiscent of that day, but this time the anger gone form his tone, leaving behind solely the desperation, _Don't do this. Let me find you. Let me bring you home. Let me be with you. Think not of our differences in opinion,_ he projects as he lies in his bed once more. He knows Erik can't hear him, especially not without Cerebro enhancing his gift. _And just come home, Erik._

XxX

Miles away, Erik Lehnsherr is dead. In his place, there is Magneto: callous and cold, who thinks of no one and nothing, and keeps to himself at night, helmet over his skull. Magneto, who is as steely as the metals he bends to his will.

He's already forgotten about everything once tender and "good" within him, because all of it is a weakness, and he refuses to be weak. He can't afford to be, what with the humans beginning to wake up and smell the mutants, and he can't afford to be when they will come to recognize and fear and hate him and his motley crew, and all that they represent, which is the fighting side of mutanity.

And so, Magneto has another drink, talks to Emma or Raven before leaving to his quarters, and when he is alone, he succumbs to the sway of the alcohol and passes out in his bed, thankful of the blissful unawareness until he needs to rise again and greet another day with just enough of a hangover to keep his mind in pain but sharp, and with just enough false determination and bravado to keep him looking strong.

He'll stop this drinking habit soon enough, he knows, but for now, it's his only vice, because it's all he can do to help him to _forget. _


End file.
